That I Should Rise
by Merle's Right Hand
Summary: Milton Mamet's story of how he came to be at Woodbury.
1. Urbes

This is a work of fiction. I do not own/know anyone who is responsible for The Walking Dead. This was created all in good fun.

**That I Should Rise  
Chapter 1: Urbes**

Spring in Georgia had arrived with too-vibrant greens and pollen galore. It was nearly picturesque... except for the rotting corpse that used to be human smothering the grass beneath it, a stark juxtaposition lost to few. Not 'corpse', a 'biter'. The decomposition of the flesh had rendered the normal springtime foliage around it to be withered and nearly dead.

Completely dead. Blackened. Unsustainable for life.

Not a 'corpse'; the Governor Philip Blake would NEVER accept that sort of term. "Ill".

He never asked about why the Governor refused any term associated with 'dead'... But Milton had been getting slightly hopeful too.

Maybe they weren't dead, only brought down by affliction. One could hope in that, right?

He'd never been a religious man, how could he? An only child and eventually orphaned by his parents, he'd scoffed at his caretaker, his only surviving grandmother's, religious beliefs early in life. He was different from other children; he knew that early on, when he would rather study in the small and impossibly inadequate library of his school than play with the others. His studies never seemed to help him socialize with his fellow peers; in high school, he'd been mocked mercilessly by the other students for being too studious or possibly homosexual, as he never seemed to take much of an interest in any of the girls that attended with him in class.

Truth was, he didn't much care for the 'fairer sex'; there were more important things to concern himself with than whatever went on in the back seat of his classmates' vehicles after sporting events and the like. He'd graduated top of his class in both high school and university to the shock and awe of absolutely no one and had gone on to finish his graduate work with the same vigour.

After securing a position with one of the larger Georgian universities history department, he managed to convince the higher ups that his job could be done remotely via online classrooms and such. Milton came to reside in a suburb of Atlanta in a small apartment that he kept sparsely furnished. The suburb was like a small city on its own, which suited Milton just fine. He never really cared much for the hustle and bustle of Atlanta but required it for his education.

The apartment building he lived in was no more than 3 stories high, cost efficient if not small. He really didn't require much more room than what the tiny flat offered, but if he had to have a complaint, it was that he needed more book shelf space. Any available wall space was lined with bookshelves which were nearly crammed full of history texts of all kinds. He kept books on all sorts of histories, local, state, national, international... As the late George Santayana has once said "Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it" and Milton thought that truer words were never said.

If only he could get that message across to his students. They didn't much seem to care about history of any kind, much to his dismay and confusion and at times his students left him feeling as if he'd never left public school at all.

It was a Thursday evening and the sun was just beginning to set when he flipped on the television to his favourite news station. The female newscaster wore a look of concern as she spoke. Milton turned up the volume.

"-outbreaks have been reported across the state. Officials urge Georgian residents to stay inside their homes and not engage those infected. It is unknown at this time if this is an act of bio-warfare terrorism but local law and national law enforcement is taking all necessary precautions."


	2. Aegror

This is a work of fiction. I do not own/know anyone who is responsible for The Walking Dead. This was created all in good fun.

**That I Should Rise  
Chapter 2: Aegror**

It had been a week. One week since the outbreak had occurred and three days since the power had gone out. News reporters and so called "experts" had made suggestions for all civilians to keep their exposure to a minimum by staying indoors and to not risk infection by going to work or school. When the power went out, it was the beginning of the end. Milton could see, read the signs. He watched from his window as the lights winked out as they travelled outward from the center of Atlanta. It was summer and his apartment was stifling. After day two he didn't bother opening the refrigerator anymore.

He was lying on the small sofa in his living room when a pounding on his front door woke him. Glancing at his watch, it read just past 5AM. He'd taken to sleeping in the living room for a reason he wasn't quite sure of. Security perhaps? He wandered over quietly and opened the door, the chain lock still in place.

A military man peered back at him, flashlight in hand. "How many people in there with you?"

Milton was thrown for a moment. "Uh, just myself."

"Grab whatever you can take with you. We're evacuating this area." The man took a moment to glance down the hallway, other flashlight beams bouncing around his frame.

"I thought we weren't supposed to leave our houses. The outbreak-"

"Son, trust me, you're gonna want to get as far away from Atlanta as possible. Now let's move."

Milton turned and went into his bedroom, hauling out a suit case and shoving a few items of clothing in. He briefly entered the bathroom to grab some toothpaste, deodorant and the like, the smell of the toilet nearly doing him in. He zipped up the case and slipped into a pair of shoes and made his way to the door, shutting it long enough to run the chain lock back and yanked it back open. Edging into the hallway, he fiddled with his keys until the man from before knocked them from his hands. "Hey!" Milton cried as the man caught him by the arm and jerked him down the darkened hallway.

The man said nothing as he shoved Milton into a crowd of people making their way to the stairs. The metal stair well door slammed back against the wall as people filed down. Everyone stopped momentarily as the sound of gunfire rang out above them before panic set it, bodies pushing and shoving against one another.

Milton was pushed along as the crowd spilled into the early morning light and suddenly, everything was chaos. People slammed into him as they attempted to make their way over to the military issued trucks down the street. More gunfire popped down the street and as Milton was ushered along to one of the trucks, he watched as a line of armed soldiers, about 5 yards away took aim at a group of people walking their way. He looked on, horrified as they began to fire into the oncoming crowd, but the group continued on unheeded as if the bullets caused them no harm.

In a flash, an individual lurched out from an alleyway behind the firing squad, snatching one of the soldiers, wrestling him to the ground. The attacker, a woman, began clawing at him, her head bent low before snapping her head back, a chunk of the military man's flesh between her teeth. The soldier screamed in agony as the rank fell and the group that they had just shot at descended upon them, wrenching men to the ground and consuming them alive. Residents of the street screamed and clambered into the trucks, Milton watched with morbid curiosity as some of the other human-like monsters turned at the screams and made their way towards them with quick but uneven gaits.

Milton pulled himself up into the truck just as it began tearing up the street, a few citizens still attempting to board. A few ran after the trucks and Milton tried to grab the hand of a teenage boy but he was quickly taken down by what appeared to be a decaying child. He watched as the child, who had at one point no more than five, tore into the boy's legs, his screams echoing down the street.

Sitting back, he found his hands shaking. What had happened? How had the world gone this mad? He pulled off his glasses and wiped at them absently with the hem of his shirt. How to process everything he'd just seen...

"Okay, I need everyone to listen up." Said a large man dressed in camouflage pants and a moss green undershirt. "As you have seen, the outbreak is deadly. Do not get yourselves bit or scratched by one of the infected as you will contract a fever and ultimately die only to return as an infected individual."

"Zombies? Are you fucking kidding me with this?" came from a young man in his early twenties near the front of the truck.

"Did you happen to notice what happened to my men back there as well as some of your fellow neighbours, son? However impossible it might seem, this is the situation. Best get used to it for now until a cure, God willing, can be found. Keep your loved ones close and pay attention to your surroundings."

"Sir?" An elderly woman spoke up softly, raising a hand to catch the man's attention. "Where is it we're going exactly? My daughter lives in downtown Atlanta with her son-"

"We have evacuations occurring all over the city and as of right now, our rendezvous is at Fort Benning. We will be able to answer what questions we can when we arrive."

The woman looked down at her hands as she settled them in her lap. Milton leaned over to her. "I'm sure that your daughter is fine."

She glanced up at him, and smiled but looked unsure. "You're right, I'm sure she's fine. It'll be a blessing to see her again once we arrive. Thank you."

Milton smiled tightly and leaned his head back to rest it against the side of the truck, closing his eyes. The adrenaline was wearing off and he felt his eyes drift shut.


End file.
